


Instructions Not Included

by dream56



Category: Digimon Adventure tri.
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 17:53:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14141346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dream56/pseuds/dream56
Summary: Alone in a classroom one afternoon, Izzy daydreams about a certain classmate, a crush, a soccer player.





	Instructions Not Included

It was sex that interested Izzy most. The logistics of a relationship, the flux, the spacing and duration of dates, the markers and limits of intimacy, the starting and ending points of romance, the categories of casualness and commitment, all these Izzy thought he understood, could understand, without the need for a personal case study of his own. But sex. That was different.

Izzy had spent a considerable amount of that afternoon at his work bench, as he had a number of recent afternoons, allowing his mind to drift from its analytical circuits and into more sensuous territory. Where did one begin and end with sex? Was there a reason to prefer one act over another, beyond the pleasurable content it offered? Was there a protocol for introducing and proceeding through sex, or was it all so variable no system could contain the matrix of its mutable flush and feeling? Was it possible to systematize sex? Or was sex off limits to the measurements of his familiar tools, outside the common units to measure energy, heat, and endurance?

Admittedly, Izzy would be the last to propose his hypothetical quandary, as well as being the last to suggest the prompting for its existence. It was easier after all to sit in the factual world, the rational world, of relative data and statistical safety. He needn't venture in the very uncharted realm of personal closeness, into the area he could only term "desire." Why couldn't it have been a routine inquiry that peaked his interest? Why wasn't it instead an objective foray into sexuality that aroused his curiosity?

Why was it that the only element that aroused his interest in the topic was a handsome, popular soccer player with unruly hair and an energy that absorbed people, only to leave them spinning in the wake of his passing by, all smiles, all chuckles, all boasts and taunts and tantrums. Tai Kamiya was the only constant Izzy had isolated, one that had put him firmly in the business of figuring out just what it meant to want to be in a relationship, and all the groundwork that implied.

A loose screw rolled lazily around on the table in front of him, as Izzy tilted the mechanical contraption he was fiddling with, the screw following the same 180 degree path in its back-and-forth hemi-circle after each disturbance. Metal bits, larger components, some electronic, others merely manual, spread out before Izzy like a shiny solid jigsaw puzzle, the working section he was attending to constituting a reversal in common puzzle logic, with Izzy filling in the inside before he got to the corners. But that of course was the challenge.

Free from class activities and long ago having already turned in the assignment that would be needed the next week, Izzy hunched over his workbench, his old trusty three-legged stool squeaking each time Izzy placed a part, fastened it tight, and reached for the next contribution to his self-built computer. Nothing fancy, a spare project made from spare parts for a spare friend with a loose wallet.

Commissions were a commonality, favors few, charity capricious, generosity depended. There was a logical constant ticking away, culling the absurd, the unusual and patterning it out on the map of motives and assumptions that regulated Izzy's understanding of others' understandings of everyday classroom ethics. If Izzy was feeling lay, he would resort to the easier phrasing, "Nerds are good at computers and junk, right?"

Junk was a corollary, a shimmering addendum capable of multiplying in meaning. Certainly he was skilled at junk. He wished he was more adept, expected that practice would enhance his handling of junk, beyond his own personal junk that is. Izzy twisted the screwdriver in little miniature finger turns, no involvement from his wrist, the subtle sensitive movements getting the job done incrementally as the screw slid home, snug and satisfied and fitting.

Izzy leaned forward as he felt his pants shift, leaned closer into his work station, not even bothering to check the golden lit windows of the late afternoon classroom. Tai must certainly be skilled in working with junk, Izzy thought. There must have been plenty for him to test his skills on, prove his aptitude for it, feel out the possible alternatives, the untested routes of getting down to being good at what he did. Izzy thought, considered how it might feel if he were to assist Tai, how Tai could light him up, how Tai's fingers could dip the divets and glaze the curves accurately, knowingly, leasing his fingers for luscious seconds to a goal of goodness, of cream-colored sensation.

Izzy leaned further forward, bent further over his workplace, his nose almost touching the tip of the cold, silver surface he was screwing. It would hardly matter, Izzy considered. Who would be there to notice, Izzy thought. The damp spot in the layers behind his zipper was tempting itself for a much more substantial soaking.

How would Tai's hands feel, not just one, his palm sinking down the curved surface of the shaft, but both, his fingertip to the drip of transparent viscous liquid threatening to slide onto his hand and make its slow, slick way over his knuckles. Or his fingers ticking the weight of Izzy's balls below, hooking one finger underneath and lifting slow enough to feel them rise, heavy enough to urge lightening. Or if those fingers wandered elsewhere, not staying put, not staying within the expected range of their effectiveness, but traveling to other locations, that clear trace of thick liquid still on Tai's fingertips, deposited in a slide across a nipple, smearing one thin coat over Izzy's collarbone, or sinking between his lips as Tai's fingertips slip in, enough clear residue left to taste.

And where would Izzy's hands be? Izzy focused. He'd bolted the two metal pieces together out of screwing order. He began extracting the first screw, it not wishing to cooperate with how firmly it had been placed. The flush from Izzy's lower half transformed into annoyance, into embarrassment. He let his eyes shift just slightly and the golden windows stayed opaque and empty with light. Izzy set his screwdriver down. This wasn't an assignment, nor was it due that week.

Izzy wished something like magic was simple as business, a transaction, dependable, understandable. So far as he understood it, the warm swell of magic was elusive, scented, subtle, sweet, its traces independent, its teasing (semi-invisible) blue-white powder in the air. And Izzy could smell it, it was warm, made him think of possibility, of curiosity, something he had a great deal of. Could he crunch the numbers of what was possible? It was possible to gauge the probable. But where there was curiosity, there were discoveries to be made.

Izzy was not expecting a trunk full of magic, nor an invitation to the wonders of junk. There was such a thing as a gradual discovery and Izzy suspected, even as he stood, considering whether he would ask Tai tomorrow if there was anything he could help him with, academic or electronical, that love was one of them.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Trade story for MJEsperandieu. Characters are Tri-age/College-age. AU in the sense the characters don't know each other.


End file.
